Tears of the Phoenix
by Rune A. Masterson
Summary: Was there ever greater friends than Slytherin and Gryffindor? So asked the Sorting Hat fifty years ago when a Dark Wizard threatened humanity. McGonagall tells the story of a time when Hogwarts united as one and rivals forged unbreakable friendships.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:**  All the usual "yakety-yak" – I don't own any of these characters (except the ones I made up).  Everything else (the Potter-verse, Hogwarts, etc.) belong the greatly talented J.K. Rowling.  This is simply my way of expressing some of my ideas about the past of Hogwarts – and a chance to "play with her toys" as it were.  ^.^

**Rated:**  PG-13 for right now (the usual – swearing, adult situations, some occasional violence, dark themes), but I may up the ante to R – haven't made my mind up yet, though.  Just so you know.

**Description:**  Have you ever wondered why McGonagall wears _green_ robes.  Or why it would seem that she never got married and had children of her own?  Have you ever wondered who Grindelwald was and what he had to do with Dumbledore?  Have you just simply wondered what Hogwarts was like in the days pre-dating even the Marauders?  Well…then this is the story for you!  McGonagall finally opens up and tells a devastated Order what happened in the early days of the Order – why it was founded and how it began.

**Chapter Description:**  In which McGonagall begins to share the story of her youth to the grieving Order.  Starts off post-book 7 and quickly changes to pre-book 1, in the Year of Our Lord, 1938…  A young McGonagall (or "Mini") is introduced, along with her "greatest friend," as they both prepare to graduate from Hogwarts and embark on a soon-to-be war-torn Europe.

**Author Notes:**  Nuthin' much…just please keep an open mind as you read.  Please enjoy and REVIEW!!  I can't possibly know what you do or don't like about this story, unless you tell me.  (And plus, it's good for my morale.  ^^)

_"Give to all nations unity, peace, and concord."_

**The Book of Common Prayer, p. 56**

"Peace and freedom never comes at a price any of us are quite willing to face," a tall, thin wizard folded his hands inside of the sleeves of his robe and stared darkly at the fire crackling cheerfully in the hearth in front of him.

The fire's bright warmth did nothing to diffuse the dank chill that crept into the ancient stone kitchen.  Its cheerful dancing didn't lighten the room's somber mood; it's flickering flashes of gold, orange, and red failed to bring color, its beauty lost on the mournful group gathered around a scarred wooden table.

"But it is a price we all understand – and that some are…are even…" an older witch dabbed at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief.  "Are even willing to pay."

"But why?" a young woman stood to her feet, turning over her stool, her face streaked with tears.  "Why did Harry and Professor Dumbledore have to die?"

"Because…" one of her companions fumbled for the right words – any words – to say.  "That's what…Fate chose, Hermoine."

"It's not fair!  It's simply not fair, Remus!" Hermoine wailed, sinking down into a nearby stool, borrowing her face into her arms.

"Life never is," Snape whispered softly, glancing almost compassionately at the young witch before turning back to contemplate the fire.

"It was a sacrifice that had to be made, Hermoine," Professor McGonagall leaned across the table and placed her wrinkled hand on the girl's arm.

"Better those sacrifices are made, than He Who Must Not Be Named still live," Snape added pragmatically, talking to the fireplace.  "The sacrifices of a few are better than the lives of hundreds more – wizard _and _muggle."

Hermoine only cried harder in response; Lupin reached over and patted her awkwardly on the back, struggling to keep his own tears at bay.

"Oh, hush, Severus," Mrs. Weasley finally spoke up from her quiet seat at the end of the table, glancing up at her fellow Order member.  "There's no need to upset the poor child more than she already is."

"What would you wish I do, Molly?" Snape turned slightly and scowled at the still-grieving widow, his dark eyes haunted.

Mrs. Weasley tear-streaked face seemed to strike a cord of humanity deep within the usually acidic Potions professor and he turned away as if in apology.

"I simply don't know what else to say," he whispered softly, as if to himself.

"You speak the truth, though, Severus," McGonagall sighed heavily.  "As hard as it is to hear it."

The stoic Gryffindor paused for several minutes, in order to regain her composure.  Tears still streamed quietly down her voice, but she at least managed to keep a steady voice.

"I, too, once saw the ones I loved taken from me – all for the sake of keeping a great evil from wiping out humanity," she brushed away her tears, but more simply rolled down her cheeks in the tracks the others had left behind.  "A greater evil than even He Who Must Not Be Named, I've often thought."

Her words were spoken softly, but the whole room heard.  Lupin, Snape, Mrs. Weasley, and Ron – who had yet to say anything – all broke away from their own personal reveries to stare at McGonagall in amazement.  Even Hermoine stilled her soft whimpers to lift her face and peer teary-eyed at her beloved Head of House in puzzlement.

"How could there possibly be an evil greater than Voldemort?" Snape demanded sharply.  "His power is unrivaled in magical history."

"His powers, perhaps," McGonagall seemed completely unperturbed by her colleague's disbelief.  "But He Who Must Not Be Named never manipulated the Muggle world, using them against us – and themselves.  That's what made Grindelwald greater than any wizard who came before or after him."

"Gindelwald…?  You mean Grindelwald the Gruesome?" Lupin frowned slightly, forgetting his sorrows momentarily and sensing the beginning of a story.

"Yes," McGonagall nodded.  "The one who's greatest pupil was He Who Must Not Be Named."

"Just say his damned name – Voldemort's dead," Snape hissed sourly.  "What harm can a name do?  Stop being so trite, Minerva."

McGonagall shot Snape an enigmatic look, before choosing to ignore him and continue with her tale.

"The three people I held dearest in my life were killed in order to bring an end to Grindelwald's reign of terror throughout Europe," McGonagall paused yet again to choke back a sob.  "My father, my greatest friend, and the only lover I've ever had."

Hermoine stared at McGonagall, speechless.  As was everyone else in the room.  Not an eye turned from her face, except Snape, who glanced uneasily at the fire one last time.

"What happened, Minerva?" Remus demanded quietly.

"You don't really have to tell us this story," Mrs. Weasley added hastily as McGonagall pressed her handerchief to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut in a deep show of sorrow.

"No…no," the elderly professor opened her eyes and shook her head vehemently.  "It's a story that must be told.  I've kept it to myself all my life," she glanced up at Snape as she said that.  "Waiting for the right time to tell it."

She glanced around at the saddened faces gathered at the table next to her.

_Molly lost a husband, Ron a father and a best friend.  Hermoine lost the one I do believe she would have married in future years – or at the very least, one who would have been her greatest friend.  We've all lost a great friend and protector,_ McGonagall squeezed her eyes shut at the thought of never again seeing Dumbledore humming absently down the beloved halls of his Hogwarts.

She opened her eyes suddenly, feeling a cold, but comforting hand land on her shoulder.  McGonagall looked up into Snape's dark eyes; to her great surprise, she saw them changed from their usual cold, guarded, haunted depths.  For the space of a few seconds, as she sat transfixed, gazing up at him, the Potions master's eyes were kind, open, and strangely bright, as if with unshed tears.

Snape seemed to feel the incredulous stares of the rest of the Order members and his eyes closed the window to his soul as he patted old House adversary one more time before withdrawing his hand and sticking it back in the sleeves of his robe.

"Now is the time to tell my tale," McGonagall broke the silence softly, her voice quivering with emotion.  "It's time for us to remember great deeds in memory of our beloved Headmaster – to honor the life he lived," tears spilled, unchecked, down her cheeks.  "It will do us – _me_ – well to remember a time when similar sacrifices had to be made to save our world.

"Severus, do hand me a cup of tea," McGonagall turned to the one pillar of seeming strength in the room.

Snape brusquely conjured up a very large mug of piping hot tea and handed it to the Transfiguration professor, his face guarded and carefully expressionless.

_You always act so strong, my friend,_ McGonagall thought to herself as she turned back to those gathered around the table.  _Always hiding your emotions away until later – always being the one dry eye in the room so others can feel as if they have something to turn to, however caustic you may be._

"This is to our loved ones, who fought for peace," McGonagall's voice shook as much as the mug she held aloft in tribute of those they mourned.

The others murmured soft replies – not an eye was dry.  With a sniff, McGonagall took a steadying sip of her tea, and then set it down on the table, cradling the mug between her hands.

"This story starts at my graduation in 1938 – a class like any other, full of hopes, dreams, and youth.  We never dreamed that dark days would come and what very dark days they would be.  We only cared that we were graduating and that Headmistress O'Meallain's Parting Speech was too long and too full of dark warnings that we didn't understand…"

~          ~          ~

**June, 1938**

A young, handsome Slytherin glanced over his shoulder and saw a red-robed figure walking swiftly past his group of friends, her long, curly black hair streaming out behind her in the soft July wind.  With a mumbled word or two, he excused himself from his fellow Slytherins and trotted quickly after the young woman.

"'Oi!  Minerva!" he called loudly, ignoring the looks of disgust his fellow House members shot him, or the discreet snickers that passed through a group of female Slytherins as they watched him pursue a member of a rival House.

"Finn?" she stopped in mid-stride and turned toward the Slytherin with a surprised expression.

"Don't be so damn shocked, Mini," Finn leaned his head toward Minerva and laughed conspiratorially.  "Ya' know I don't give a bloody damn in hell what those pure-blooded idiots think," he glanced over his shoulder at the scandalized Slytherins, his handsome face brightened in a smile.

"I often wonder what the Sorting Hat was thinking when it sorted you into Slytherin," Minerva sighed tragically.  "You should have been a Gryffindor, Finn."

"Naw," Finn waved his hand dismissively, his clear blue eyes shining mischievously.  "What woulda' been the fun in that?  Sure, Dad an' Mum were a little shocked to learn that I was Sorted into Slytherin, but I'm glad I was.  I've come out a better, stronger wizard 'cause of it," he placed his hand on Minerva's shoulder.  "I know what I believe, Minerva, an' I know how to defend my beliefs.  Livin' in the Snake's Den will teach ya' that.

"But, now," he waved his hand impatiently.  "We've been through this all before in the last seven years.  This isn't what I wanted to talk to ya' 'bout."

"Then what for?" Minerva cocked a cynical eyebrow.  "We're about to be called into the castle for the Parting Ceremony and Feast."

"I just wanted to tell ya'…" Finn took a deep breath and impulsively grabbed Minerva's hands in his.  "That I treasure our friendship an' I hope that you won't forget your old Slytherin friend as you move out into the great wizarding world.  I'm not askin' for much – just the occasional owl.  I think we have a unique friendship, Minerva, that could change many ancient wrongs between our two Houses."

"Don't worry, Finn," Minerva said softly, freeing one of her hands and placing it comfortingly on top of her friend's fingers.  "I'll never forget you, or our friendship."

"Always friends, then?" Finn moved in closer, resting his forehead against Minerva's with a slight, hopeful smile.

"_Always_," Minerva whispered fervently, impulsively throwing her arms around Finn and hugging him tightly.  "You're like a brother to me, Finn.  I'm never saying 'goodbye'."

Overcome with a surprising show of emotion, Finn kissed her affectionately on the cheek, before hugging her back and then stepping back.

"See ya' in the Great Hall," he punched her playfully on the arm, his eyes strangely bright and tender.

"Why don't we go together?" Minerva offered him her arm with a soft smile.  "For old time's sake?"

"It would be an honor, my courageous little lioness," Finn bowed gallantly and crooked his arm with hers.  "We should walk together – this one, last time."

"At Hogwarts," Minerva added quickly.

"Here at Hogwarts," Finn nodded, but there was look on his face that disquieted Minerva in a way she couldn't quite explain.

It was a look that told her soul that this would indeed be the last time she walked arm-in-arm with her childhood friend.  There had been whisperings among the seventh years and the Hogwarts faculty about dark things afoot in Europe – things that threatened their very way of life.  The look on Finn's face seemed to herald those dark times; Minerva blinked back involuntary tears that she couldn't quite explain and tightened her grip on Finn's arm.

_I will never say 'goodbye' to you, Finn.  You're a true heir of all that was good and great in your House's founder – like a true Slytherin, you are noble and sagacious._

"We'll always be together," Minerva said softly as they walked toward the castle's massive front doors, casually ignoring the shocked expressions of their fellow House members.  "We'll be sharing elevenses together someday, talking about our grandchildren and laughing about Hogwarts in the 'old days.'"

Her unexplainable fears dissipated like a dark fog in the light of Finn's bright smile.  And she smiled back – there was nothing she wouldn't do, just to see her friend smile.

~          ~          ~

"What a magnificent pair," Headmistress O'Meallain sighed, a slight smile dancing along the corners of her mouth, as she watched a green-robed and red-robed student walking arm-and-arm up the gravel path to the castle doors.  "It's hard to believe that they could be such great friends, Albus."

"The Sorting Hat says that in the old days, there were no greater friends than Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor," Albus Dumbledore, Transfiguration Professor and head of Minerva's House, placed his hand on the shoulder of his own Slytherin friend.

"They're a rebuke to us, Albus," O'Meallain sighed heavily.  "We keep our friendship hidden behind polite conversation and cool indifference.  Miss McGonagall and Mr. Foxfire are so…_open_…with their feelings."

"The magnificence of youth, Jenna," Dumbledore chuckled softly.  "They don't give a damn what the world thinks about their friendship."

"And we get too cautious and foolish in our old age," O'Meallain shook her head slowly.  "Our friendship will never be known outside of these stone walls," she let the curtain fall over the window and turned toward her desk.  "But those two…those two will be a shining example of what power exists in the unity of differences.  We can only pray that the wizarding world learns from the wisdom of our young people."

"You speak irony, Jenna, dear," Dumbledore smiled kindly at her as he sat down in a nearby chair, steepling his fingers together as he rested his elbows on the arm rests.

"I know," O'Meallain laughed shortly.  "But these are ironic times we live in, Albus.  Our children set the example for their parents and have the wisdom of peers half their years.  And dark wizards make pacts with Muggles while those of good shun the other world."

"You fear for our future?" Dumbledore ran a hand through his thick mane of auburn hair.

"I fear for the future of our children," O'Meallain waved her hand expansively around the office.  "I fear for Hogwarts.  The students that graduate from Slytherin leave with darker hearts each year," she sat down heavily behind her desk, leaning her head wearily in her hands.  "I fear many things, Albus."

"And what of Grindelwald?" Dumbledore pressed gently, leaning forward in his chair and placing his hand comfortingly on the Headmistress' arm.

"I fear him most of all."

~          ~          ~

"...You've all come a long way.  You came to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as children.  You leave as grown witches and wizards.  I commend each and every one of you for a job a well done.  A toast, then," Headmistress O'Meallain picked up her glass and raised it high, toward the enchanted ceiling of Hogwart's Great Hall.  "To your past success and bright futures."

The Great Hall was filled with scattered cheers and clapping as thirty-two students, dressed in the finest robes of their House colors, stood to their feet.  Minerva grasped her own glass and raised it in imitation of the Headmistress, glancing toward the Slytherin table.

Her brown eyes met Finn's blue ones and they both smiled fondly at each other.  Minerva discreetly inclined her head in Finn's direction before taking a sip of her plum wine.  With a mischievous twinkle, Finn winked at her over the rim of his cup and then did a most astonishing thing.  He raised his crystal goblet in the air a second time, smiling broadly at Minerva as everyone around them – including the teachers – began to sit down.

"A toast to Gryffindor!" he said grandly, his young, husky voice reverberating around the stone room.

"And to Slytherin as well," Minerva shocked even herself by replying to Finn's outrageous toast – in front of all four Houses, the Headmistress, and every Hogwarts professor, no less.

Maintaining eye contact, the two friends sipped yet again from their goblets.  Minerva glanced toward O'Meallain and blushed, feeling foolish underneath the Headmistress' strange, indescribable gaze.  But if she had continued looking stubbornly toward the teachers' table, as Finn did, she would have seen something quite extraordinary.  O'Meallain glanced toward Professor Dumbledore, who nodded his head slowly approvingly, smiling up at the Headmistress.  And then O'Meallain did something quite unlike her – a glimpse behind her usually stern façade that no one saw except Finn.

She smiled warmly at Dumbledore, lifting her glass toward him in a silent salute.

_Nice to know Mini and I aren't the only ones,_ Finn grinned as he finally sat down, calmly ignoring the tangible indignation of the green-robed students around him.  _But who'da' thunk!  The 'Old Snake' herself an' cheery ole' Professor Dumbledore!_

"Before we begin the Parting Feast," O'Meallain continued smoothly, as if nothing unusual had just happened.  "Your four respective Heads of House would like to present a little something to you all that you may remember from the beginning of this term."

The students gathered quickly forgot what had happened between Finn and Minerva and all looked obediently – if not expectantly – up toward the front of the room.  Gathering her emerald robes around her, O'Meallain sat down and Dumbledore stood up along with three others.

"_In times of old when I was new / and Hogwarts barely started / the founders of our noble school / thought never to be parted: / united by a common goal, / they had the selfsame yearning, / to make the world's best magic school / and pass along their learning_," Dumbledore recited with appropriate decorum, his red robes gleaming cheerfully in the flickering light of the candles bobbing along the Hall's ceiling.__

"'_Together we will build and teach!'_ / _the four good friends decided_ / _and never did they dream that they_ / _might someday be divided,_" Professor Hesper Starkey, resident Potions Master, spoke slowly and clearly, enunciating each word with a soft, almost sly, Irish drawl.  "_For where were there such friends anywhere_ / _as Slytherin and Gryffindor?_"

Finn and Minerva exchanged looks yet again, grinning broadly.

"_Unless it was the second pair / of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?_" Professor Cassandra Vablatsky looked calmly toward her own Ravenclaw students as she talked, her gentle voice echoing sweetly.__

"_So how could it have gone so wrong? / How could such friendship fail?_" Professor Tilly Toke, instructor in the Care of Magical Creatures, recited with her usual bright, infectious enthusiasm.  "_Why, I was there and so can tell the whole sad, sorry tale._"__

"_Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those / whose ancestry is purest,'_" Starkey's eyes roved with evident pride over his smirking group of Slytherins.__

"_Said Ravenclaw, 'We'll teach those whose / intelligence is surest,'_" Vablatsky's face shown with a bright, fierce joy.__

"_Said Gryffindor, 'We'll teach all those / with brave deeds to their name,'_" Dumbledore seemed to look straight at Minerva.__

"_Said Hufflepuff, 'I'll teach the lot, / and treat them all the same,_'" Toke, ever-just and well-liked by all the young graduates, beamed down on them, regardless of what color robes they wore.__

"_So Hogwarts worked in harmony / for several happy years, / but then discord crept among us / feeding on our faults and fears,_" Vablatsky frowned slightly – a sight not one of her students had ever seen cross the gentle, placid face of their Divination professor.__

"_The Houses that, like pillars four, / had once held up our school, / now turned upon each other and, / divided, sought to rule,_" even Toke seemed quietly disturbed, her smiling gray eyes clouded and solemn.__

"_And for a while it seemed the school / must meet with early end, / what with dueling and with fighting / and the clash of friend on friend,_" Starkey's sharp, shrewd green eyes glanced from Finn to Minerva, from Slytherin to Gryffindor.__

"_And at last there came a morning / when old Slytherin departed / and though the fighting then died out / he left us quite downhearted,_" Dumbledore's words were punctuated with a deep sigh.__

Glancing at each other from different ends of the table, the four House heads spoke finally in one voice.  Their dark and solemn message seemed to shake Hogwarts to its very foundations, leaving more than one student feeling distinctly unsettled.

"_And never since the founders four / were whittled down to three / have the Houses been united / as they once were meant to be._"__

The four professors' voices died away, leaving the Great Hall wrapped in a great, startled hush.  The students stared up at their teachers, completely baffled and stunned.  With a slight bow, each Head of House sat down, their own faces reflecting the solemnity that had settled down across the students and other teachers.

"Taken from the song the Sorting Hat chose to share with us at the beginning of this year's term," O'Meallain explained softly, rising to her feet once again amid the rustle of her expensive satin robes.

She stood there for several minutes, her gaze sweeping through the throng of excited, eager, youthful adults, flush with their achievement as the new fledgling witches and wizards of their magical communities.  As a Slytherin, O'Meallain never showed her true emotions, but her heart felt as if it would burst with mingled pride and fear for each young life that was so very precious to her.  Taking a deep, steadying breath, she launched into her carefully planned Parting Speech.

"We live in dark times, my young colleagues," she spread her hands open wide, as if imploring the students to give her their undivided attention.  "In the past, we of the magical world have kept a careful distance from ordinary humans – dismissing them as nothing more than 'silly Muggles.'  But now, a powerful Dark Wizard makes allegiances with them in Germany, winning the favor and support of witches, wizards, _and_ Muggles!

"I'm afraid, my dear students, that I am releasing you into a world full of danger, with an uncertain future," everyone present, except Dumbledore – who had helped his friend write her speech – seemed shocked at the Headmistress' uncharacteristic candor and concern.

"I'm afraid a great evil is rising that must be resisted and destroyed.  But, as the Sorting Hat warned us this year, that cannot be done without us all putting aside our differences and uniting as one," O'Meallain folded her hands inside of her wide robe sleeves, her eyes straying toward Finn, who grinned cheekily up at her.  "As Mr. Foxfire and Miss McGonagall have demonstrated for us for the past seven years, there is strength to be found in uniting our differences.  Lasting friendships can _indeed_ be forged among rival families, or, in this case," she glanced at Minerva.  "Rival _Houses_.

"For, indeed," a tear slid down the Headmistress' face, shocking all who watched.  "There has never been a great friendship than Slytherin and Gryffindor – except, perhaps, for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw…"


	2. Part One

**Disclaimer:** All the usual "yakety-yak" – I don't own any of these characters (except the ones I made up). Everything else (the Potter-verse, Hogwarts, etc.) belong the greatly talented J.K. Rowling. This is simply my way of expressing some of my ideas about the past of Hogwarts – and a chance to "play with her toys" as it were. ^.^

**Rated:** PG-13 for right now (the usual – swearing, adult situations, some occasional violence, dark themes), but I may up the ante to R – haven't made my mind up yet, though. Just so you know.

**Description:** Have you ever wondered why McGonagall wears _green_ robes? Or why it would seem that she never got married and had children of her own? Have you ever wondered who Grindelwald was and what he had to do with Dumbledore? Have you just simply wondered what Hogwarts was like in the days pre-dating even the Marauders? Well…then this is the story for you! McGonagall finally opens up and tells a devastated Order what happened in the early days of the Order – why it was founded and how it began.

**Chapter Description:** In which McGonagall has a Floo powder conversation with her best friend, Finnigan Foxfire.  Finn warns her of dark times to come and Minerva realizes that her friend may be in grave danger.  Preoccupied with the conversation, she talks about it with her boyfriend – Gaddis Whiteborn – the next morning at breakfast, only to discover that Finn's warning is true!  And an up-and-coming _Daily Prophet_ reporter risks his job to bring news of the Muggle world to the wizarding world, believing that everyone is affected by the events rapidly unraveling in Europe.

**Author Notes:** Nuthin' much…just please keep an open mind as you read. Please enjoy and REVIEW!! I can't possibly know what you do or don't like about this story, unless you tell me. (And plus, it's good for my morale. ^^)

_"For the second time in our history, a British Prime Minister has returned from __Germany__ bringing peace with honor.  I believe it is peace for our time."_

**Neville Chamberlain, ****September 30th, 1938******

**August 31st, 1939******

"Oi!  Mini!  How are ya'?" a cheerful red-head suddenly appeared in Minerva McGonagall's fire.

"Good evenin', Finn," Minerva glanced over her textbook and smiled warmly.  "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"'Fraid I can't stay for long," Finn's smile faltered and he ran his fingers through his bangs.

"What's the matter?" Minerva put her book aside and kneeled on the floor, leaning in as close as she dared to the hearth.

"The fireplace Floo connections are bein' monitored at all times," Finn shifted nervously, his green eyes dark and wary.  "I'm usin' an abandoned Muggle fireplace, but I can't be sure those aren't bein' watched either."

"Who's watching the fireplace connections?  Someone here – in Britain?" Minerva fretted, her brows knitting together in concern.

"No – on this side.  In Germany," Finn glanced at her, his usually smiling face darkened with an uncharacteristic frown.

"What on earth are you doing in _Germany_?" Minerva sputtered.  "I thought you were studying to be an Auror at Tuatha De Danaan."

"I am," Finn nodded shortly.  "But…" he sighed deeply.  "I came over here durin' the summer.  I don't know if I'll be able to make it back in time for the start o' term, Mini."

"Wha…what do you mean?" Minerva gasped.  "Why _wouldn't_ you go back to Tuatha?  You've _always_ wanted to be an Auror, Finn!"

"I'm not sayin' I don't _want_ to go back the university," Finn shook his head slowly.  "It's just…I don't think I _can_ – the borders are shut to Muggles _an_' wizards, Mini.  Like I said, even the fireplace Floo connections are bein' watched," he paused, his eyes dark and haunted.  "Things are aweful bad here, Mini.  A lot worse than you folks back home are willin' to admit."

"What's wrong?" Minerva sat back on her heels, not breaking eye contact with her old school friend.

"Everythin'," Finn sighed deeply, glancing down.  "Ole' O'Meallain wasn't exaggeratin' when she said Grindelwald was one to fear an' fight.  Somethin' big is about to happen…I'm not sure what.  We're 'bout to get a war, Mini."

"But…that's the Muggles' problem, isn't it?" Minerva fretted.

"That's what the Minister o' Magic would like ya' to believe – he's every bit as worse as the Muggle Prime Minister!" Finn snapped, but his anger wasn't directed toward Minerva.  "Nigellus is one o' those purists who'd like nothin' more than be rid o' the entire Muggle population."

"Finn…" Minerva shook her head.  "You shouldn't say such things."

"It's the truth," Finn replied sharply.  "There's a war comin', Mini – an' Grindelwald isn't just targetin' Muggles.  He means to wipe all o' us out!"

"How do you know this?" Minerva asked slowly, her eyes worried.

Finn paused, thinking carefully before speaking.

"I can't tell ya', Mini," he spoke softly.  "But…ya're a clever witch.  I'm sure ya' can figure it out, can't ya'."

For several seconds, neither spoke.  Minerva turned Finn's words over carefully in her mind, her eyes narrowed in deep concentration.  But then the answer dawned on her and her eyes widened in fear and shock.

"Finn -!" she gasped, covering her hand with her mouth.

"Don't say anythin', Mini," Finn put up a warning hand.  "It's between ya' an' me."

"Your secret's safe," Minerva's eyes filled with tears.

"I know," Finn said quietly.

"Please…be careful, Finn," Minerva reached out with her hand, as if to touch Finn's face within the fire's flames.

"As careful as I can be," he sighed deeply and then tried to smile bravely.  "But you know me, Mini – I'm as nimble as a fox an' twice as sly.  It'll take lot to get this old body down."

"I'm not talking about your body," a tear slid down Minerva's cheek.  "I'm more worried about your _soul_, Finnigan Foxfire."

"I've gotta' go now, Mini," Finn said after a long pause.  "I've been here too long as it is."

"All right," Minerva whispered gently, the tears falling unchecked.

"Take care, Mini.  I'll see ya' when this all through," Finn tried to smile, trying his best to cheer his friend up.

"I love you, Finn," Minerva clasped her hands together tightly.  "Please take care of yourself."

Finn looked at her silently for several seconds and then disappeared from her sight without a word.  Minerva covered her face in her hands and sobbed, fearing for her friend – fearing for the safety of his heart, his body, and his soul…

~          ~          ~

**September 1st, 1939******

"Good mornin', sunshine – why so glum?" a young wizard slipped into a chair across from Minerva as she sat at breakfast.

"Mornin', Gaddis," Minerva glanced up briefly before resuming her coffee watch.

"Aw…come on now, luv," Gaddis cocked his head and tried to look Minerva in the eye.  "That's no way to greet a friend on a fine mornin' like this.  What's the matter?"

"I talked to Finn last night," Minerva said slowly, stirring her coffee idly with a spoon.

"Finn'?" Gaddis repeated the name, as if trying to remember it.  "You mean Finnigan Foxfire – the Slytherin boy you were best friends with at Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Minerva replied softly.

"Last I heard of him, he got accepted into Tuatha De Danaan University," Gaddis picked up a knife and began buttering a scone.  "You talked to him – how?" the Muggle-born wizard puzzled for a minute, clearly wondering how and why a pure-blood Slytherin had called Minerva up on a phone.

"He used Floo powder," Minerva read Gaddis' mind and rolled her eyes.  "Honestly, Gaddis!  You can be such a Muggle sometimes."

"Can you blame me?" Gaddis demanded cheerfully, biting into his scone.  "I'm gettin' me degree in Muggle studies, after all – an' bloody damn!" he exclaimed, full mouth and all.  "I _live_ wi' Muggles."

"Though heaven only knows why," Minerva snorted contemptuously, glaring at her friend over her coffee mug.  "And don't talk with your mouth full.  Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?"

"Never had a mum," Gaddis proclaimed with the same exuberance that he would have had for a Quidditch match.

"Oh…I'm sorry," Minerva blushed – she knew well what it was like to lose a mother.

"Life happens," Gaddis shrugged.  "Ain't nothin' to be sorry 'bout."

The two fell silent for several minutes.  Minerva sipped her coffee and looked everywhere around the café except at her boyfriend, Gaddis Whiteborn.  She watched with a detached interest as a buxom witch bustled about the establishment, serving several young patrons coffee and steaming platters of breakfast.

The Broken Chant was a popular spot for the magical students of Britain's most prestigious school of higher learning – Morgan-Morgause University.  The sprawling university campus was spread over several acres of Scotland's most desolate highland moor.  The setting was rather bleak, but it bustled with the lively activity of hundreds of Britain's best and brightest Hogwarts graduates and the most brilliant professors to be found in the magical European community.

It was like returning home once again for Scottish-born Gaddis and Minerva.  He had been born and raised to Muggle parents in the poorest community of Edinburgh – she had been raised to a half-mixed marriage of a Muggle mother and wizard father, in the wind-swept sea-town of Dundee.

"So…what did ole' Finn have to say?" Gaddis asked innocently, but Minerva's reaction to his question greatly astonished him.

She broke abruptly out of her reverie, turning her head so quickly that Gaddis marveled that she didn't suffer whiplash.  Her grey eyes flashed dangerously for a second or two, her cheeks suddenly flushed with anger.  But as quickly the fire kindled in her eyes, it disappeared, replaced by a look of cautious suspicion.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked vaguely.

"Just curious, that's all," Gaddis sat back in his chair, puzzled by Minerva's reaction.  "I thought maybe he said somethin' that was causin' ya' to react like this."

"Like what?" the young witch demanded warily, trying to turn the course of conversation.

"All preoccupied an' gloomy," Gaddis refused to be turned down a rabbit trail.  "Is…is there somethin' wrong, Mini?" he reached over and put his hand over hers.  "Ya' know ya' can trust me."

"Yes…I know I can, Gaddis," Minerva's eyes filled, un-bidden, with tears.  "Finn _did_ tell me that's very unnerving.  I'm afraid he's got himself caught up in somethin' that…well…somethin' bad," she sighed and set her mug down, covering her eyes with her free hand.  "But I swore that I would keep the words he spoke between only the two of us.  A friend's confidence, I guess you could say – I'm sorry, Gaddis."

"It's all right," Gaddis assured her quietly, patting her hand lovingly.  "I won't make ya' break a promise to a friend – though I doubt I could get ya' do that anyway," his mouth quirked up into a sad smile.

"Is that the _Daily Prophet_?" Minerva tried to change the subject.

She dried her tears, put her hand over Gaddis' and tried to smile bravely.  Her boyfriend looked at her carefully, then decided that she would okay after all.

"Yeah," he picked up the paper and handed it to her.  "Usual, boring headlines.  Nigellus just got back from a conference wi' Himmler, the German Minister o' Magic.  Stole lines off o' Chamberlain an' says there'll be 'peace in our times.'"

"Hmmm…" Minerva pursed her lips and glanced at Gaddis as she pulled the wizarding paper toward her.  "Such cheerful news."

"You know journalists," Gaddis laughed shortly and rubbed the back of his neck.  "A regular pack o' optimistic vultures."

"I'm sure Kai would _not_ appreciate that stereotype!" Minerva chuckled.

"Eh?" Gaddis frowned, the name not familiar to him.

"A Hufflepuff I knew back at Hogwarts," Minerva explained briefly, opening the paper and laying on the table in front of her. "Kai MacCorrigai – you probably don't remember him.  He was a year behind me, two years behind you.  He graduated this past July…was always talking about how he was going to become a _Daily Prophet_ reporter.  He was from Dundee, too – lived two blocks down from me," she added absently as she sipped her coffee and focused on the bold, front-page headline.

Gaddis had just turned his attention back to his breakfast when the sound of breaking glass jolted him back to reality.  He glanced sharply up at Minerva – only to find her face pale and frightened.

"Mini…?"

"The headlines, Gaddis," Minerva whispered faintly as she clutched her hands to her throat.  "They're not about peace…"

She pushed the paper toward him.  Gaddis mouthed the headlines' words in disbelief –

**WAR IN OUR TIMES!  ****GERMANY**** INVADES ****POLAND****!**

~          ~          ~

"SKEETER!" Brett Quinn, wizard editor-in-chief of the _Daily Prophet_, exploded from his office in a red-faced fury.  "BEAU BRYANT SKEETER!" he roared again.

"Um…sir?" an older wizard stood up from his desk.  "Skeeter just left."

"LEFT?" Brett thundered.  "Do you know what that scoundrel has DONE, Chet?"

"'Fraid I don't," Chet Acevedo shook his head.

"What's he done this time?" a young witch looked up from her typewriter.

"Stay out of this, Augusta," Chet scolded her quietly.

"I'll get my nose into whatever I want," Augusta bristled.  "This is my _fiancé_ we're talkin' 'bout anyway, isn't it?  I'd say I have a right to know what Beau's up to."

"No good, I'll wager," another young witch – Kerri Lenore – rolled her eyes.

"MacCorrigai!" Brett caught sight of a young wizard who's desk sat side-by-side with the reporter in question.

"Yes sir?" Kai looked up – he had been dictating notes to his Quick Notes Quill.

"As Mr. Skeeter's apprentice," Brett was breathing heavily as he stomped toward the newest member of the _Daily Prophet_, brandishing the tightly rolled newspaper.  "You wouldn't happen to know anything about…" he paused dramatically and then slammed the paper down on Kai's desk, knocking over the young reporter's ink bottle.  "THIS?"

Kai stared blankly at the blaring headlines.

"These aren't the ones we published last night," he observed stupidly.

"No, indeed!" Brett snarled.  "They're now on page _ten_!  _Page ten_!" he repeated murderously.  "With the obituaries!"

Kai had to work to keep a straight face – Kerri hid a laugh behind a false cough.  The corner of Brett's eye twitched nervously, but Kai only looked up and stared the furious editor calmly in the eye.

"I'm afraid I don't know what this is about.  Mr. Skeeter didn't tell me that he was planning this."

"Damn you, MacCorrigai!" Brett growled.  "Like bloody hell you didn't know Skeeter was up to his usual, outrageous tricks!"

"Now, just calm down, Brett," Chet started to walk over to the editor-in-chief, reaching out a comforting hand.  "If the boy doesn't know, then he doesn't know."

"If you'd just mellow out for a minute," Augusta added, folding her arms over her chest.  "You'd know Kai was telling the truth.  That's very much like Beau – not telling people what he's planning."

"But…but…!" Brett sputter incoherently for a few minutes.  "Kai _has_ to know!"

"Has to know what?" the voice of reason spoke from the tiny office's front door.

Brett had opened his mouth to say something more, but he closed it with a click of teeth after hearing the voice.  The editor whirled around, the blood rushing to his cheeks once again.

"_Skeeter_!" he howled, grabbing the _Prophet_ and waving it in Beau's direction.

"Ahh…" Beau Skeeter caught sight of the paper and nodded knowingly.  "You found the new copy of _Prophet_, I see."

"So you _did_ do it?" Brett stopped abruptly in his predatory advance, the gleam of triumph in his eyes.

"Of course," Beau walked into the office and closed the door behind him.  "What's wrong with it, Brett?  Aren't we supposed to tell events – as they happen _all around the world_?  We are the British wizard's eyes and ears after all, are we not?" the young reporter unbuttoned his cloak and hung it up next to Kerri's bright red cloak.

Brett paused in the face of this argument, but the editor wasn't flustered for long.

"How could you possibly know this?" he glanced down at the article, as if searching for something.  "According to this, it happened early this morning!"

"All the more reason for it to be on the front page," Beau retorted smoothly.  "As for how I found out – I _am_ a wizard after all, Brett.  And…I have my connections," the wizard-journalist wouldn't meet Brett's eyes as he spoke that last part, causing the editor to cock a cynical eyebrow.

"What _kind_ of 'connection', Skeeter?"

"The kind that knew the instant Germany invaded Poland," Beau shoved his hands in his pockets and faced Brett defiantly.

"But what does this have to do with us?" Brett wouldn't admit defeat.  "Why should we care if Muggles decide to wage war on each other?"

"Because," Beau sat down on the edge of a nearby desk.  "If you'd read past the headline, Brett, you'd know that this war doesn't affect just Muggles.  Grindelwald – known to the Muggles as 'Hitler' – is targeting anyone who stands in his way.  And that includes both Muggles _and_ wizards."

~          ~          ~

"You need to be more careful, Finn."

"I had to talk to her, Stalk.  She's me best friend – I needed to see an old face in the middle o' all this madness," Finn leaned against the fireplace mantle and stared moodily into the fire.

"I don't think that was your smartest move," Stalk Blenheim shook his head slowly.  "Mighty dangerous, what you did."

"And your talkin' to Beau Skeeter wasn't risky?" Finn retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Stalk leaned back in his chair and spread his hands open wide in defeat.

"Got me there, Finn," the older wizard sighed.

"I just wanna' get out o' here," Finn rested his head against the cool, rough bricks.  "I have me studies at the University to pursue."

"That's not really why you want to go back home, is it?" Stalk asked quietly as he filled his pipe with fragrant tobacco leaves.

"No…" Finn shook his head slowly.  "Though I _do_ wanna' be an Auror.  I…I'm afraid my absence may cause me to lose someone dear to me."

"Minerva?" Stalk frowned slightly, lighting his pipe and taking a contented first puff.  "I thought you said the two of you were just friends."

"It's not her," Finn shook his head, turning away.  "It's someone else…a younger student I met at Hogwarts.  Her parents are tryin' to marry her off to some punk fresh outta' Durmstrang."

"A Nazi?" Stalk glanced up.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Finn moodily kicked the hearth.

"That's not all that's bothering you," Stalk puffed away at his pipe.  "You've been really quiet ever since you talked to Minerva – and I'm not talking about the start of the war, either," Finn's middle-aged companion shook his pipe at the young man.

"You're right, Stalk," Finn admitted defeat.  "I'm just…thinkin' 'bout somethin' Mini told me."

"Share to care?" Stalk started to rock slowly.

"No," Finn said shortly, turning away before the astute wizard could read his thoughts, reflected in his green eyes.

_"I'm more worried about your soul, Finnigan Foxfire,"_ Minerva's voice reverberated through Finn's mind.

_There are times, Mini, when I wonder if I have a soul to lose,_ Finn thought as he slumped down on a nearby couch, keeping his eyes on the fire.  _I wonder if I'll ever be able to get out of this hell-hole.  Will I ever be able to forget the horrors I've seen here?  Should I forget them?_

**A/N:**  Gotta' love those cliff-hangers.  *laughs evilly*  And don't worry…the story should be picking up in the next chapter or so.  I've been laying down the ground-work in this chapter and the last one.  Bear with me – it'll all start making sense to you soon enough.  ^.^

And I do believe I have some thanks to give to those of you who have been kind enough to review:

**Jestana** – thanks for reviewing!  Your kind words really encouraged me.  ^^

**Teagal7** – I'm glad you liked what I've started to do with Minerva's background.  And I'm glad you like Finn – personally, I think he's one of the better characters I've created.  I'm very partial to him; I've always believed that not all Slytherins are bad (just look at Snape!) and I wanted to create a Slytherin character who did the right thing and wasn't an ass.  Thanks for reviewing!

**Punurple** – glad you liked the Sorting Hat song.  The _Harry Potter Lexicon_ said that that song had been used before in times of great trouble and I thought it really set the tone for the whole story.  Now…Minerva and Finn's friendship doesn't so much end as – well, I can't really say, since that would ruin the story.  ^.-  But suffice to say, they never _stop_ being friends.  Thanks for reviewing!

**Shuffle Queen** – thanks so much for reading and reviewing, my friend!  I'm sorry that I never got around to finishing _Ace of Spades_, but Life came by and I couldn't pass the opportunity up.  _AOS_ sorta' fell to the wayside after I joined the Navy and after three different moves, I'm finally settled down in Japan, but I'm afraid I lost all of my files to _AOS_ in one computer crash too many.  Believe me, if that hadn't happened, I'd have reposted and started work again, but I don't really feel like starting again from scratch.  I don't think I can duplicate what I did in the beginning, again.  But thanks for reading this story and gracing it with a review.  That really made my day!  ^.^

And not that any of you care, but "Beau Skeeter" is based on a fellow journalist (I'm a broadcast journalist with AFN Pacific, for those of you who don't know).  *laughs*  Now, the last name is that of Rita Skeeter (Beau is her grandfather, according to this story!), but the brash personality, first name, and physical description is that of my very _unusual_ co-worker.  *grins*  Beau's just such a great character in real life, that I figured I couldn't recreate someone of such interest.  -_^  So here's to the real Beau – a pain in the ass to work with in real life, but an interesting person to know, nevertheless!  He'll be the next "Stephen Spielberg", just wait and see…

And keep tuned for the next exciting installment of _Tears of the Phoenix_.  And if you have any time (or interest) to do so, check out the companion story to this, _Emerald Eyes, Silver Chalice_.  (Takes place during the Marauder era and focuses on Remus' background and story).  'Til next time – thanks for reading/reviewing!

~**Rune**


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